


on childish thoughts (moments from floor 6)

by everythingFangirl



Series: when I'm with you, I can only be me (stories from the victors' tower) [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Character Study, Gen, Homesickness, Introspection, been sitting in my drafts for a while, heehoo lunch club go brrrrrr, seven of them actually, written in one go after I had a breakdown one time heehoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingFangirl/pseuds/everythingFangirl
Summary: I want to go home.It’s a simple thought, but a powerful one. And yet even the most powerful ideas can fade away with time.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), vaguely threatening no-romance tag
Series: when I'm with you, I can only be me (stories from the victors' tower) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715008
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64
Collections: victors' tower canon works





	on childish thoughts (moments from floor 6)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts), [bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb/gifts).



> It's been about two months since I've written anything new for this AU, but I'm back!
> 
> EDIT January 8th 2021: replaced Carson with Quackity

_I want to go home._

It’s a simple thought. A childish one, some say. But it’s there nonetheless. And you can’t blame yourself for it when it comes around. You can’t blame yourself for wanting comfort.

~

 _I want to go home,_ Alex thinks. 

It’s too quiet here. Far, far too quiet, and cold, and clean, and too big for him alone. It’s not home, not even close to it; there’s nobody there to cook a warm meal when you’re hungry, nobody there to help out with your work if you’re struggling, there’s nobody there whose quiet murmurings you could hear through your door as you’re falling asleep, a reassurance that you’re not alone. There’s nobody there at all. 

Maybe it’s a childish thought, but he is a child, really, and when he cries under his covers there’s nobody there to comfort him. 

But there in the dark, he swears that nobody who comes after him will have to feel the same.

~

 _I want to go home,_ Noah thinks. 

He’s only known one home for his entire life. He never expected anything to change; he just thought he’d stay, quietly, in the background of district three, find a job, find a girl, settle down. He doesn’t want this new life, he doesn’t want the limelight, he’s never wanted it; and maybe he is still a child, but he’s not an idiot, he knows that there’s something wrong in all of this, he doesn’t want to take part in this circus, he doesn’t want any of this - but what can he do? What could he ever do? 

At least he’s not alone here. Maybe this could be home, if they wanted it to be... But it could never be, if he tries to speak his mind. And he finds himself slipping into that rhythm, complacency for the sake of comfort.

Maybe it’s a childish thought, but who would really care? What else has he got to do? (And yet, still, it’s too much, sometimes. And yet, still, when he screams himself hoarse at the walls of the pool room, alone, there’s nobody there to stop him.)

~

 _I want to go home,_ Cooper thinks.

He hates it here. He hates everything about this place. Maybe he wants to go back, yes, but more than anything he wants to tear this lousy city apart when he does so. He wants to shove his fist right into the centre of the Capitol’s gleaming, rotten heart, tear out the jewels and the wires and the foundations of every one of those damn skyscrapers until it all collapses into nothing, he wants to _scream,_ and - 

and - 

and then they tell him to shut up. There’s nobody else here who would help him. They’re just sitting there, unmoving, stewing in their own misery, ready to stay in their nice little boxes until they finally collapse into dust. Alex Noah Wilbur, all of them, every single one, and he hates them for it.

Maybe it’s a childish thought, a spiteful one, but he can’t _fucking_ help it, can he? And all he can do is hit things until they break, and there’s always someone there to patch up the hole, but nobody at all to fix the cuts on his hands. 

~

 _I want to go home,_ Ted thinks.

It’s a familiar thought. Too familiar, by now. He could talk for days about how much he misses it all, the fields, the cows, the skies the people the people always the people the people that don’t want him to go back no matter how much he would beg - 

But he still smiles, and he still lies through clenched teeth, and he still plays the role they’ve laid out for him to the letter. Because there’s no space for thoughts like these here, not anymore, even if every lie he tells burns just a little bit more of his old self away. Even as he wonders if by the time anyone would even care to look deeper, there’d be anything past that mask at all. If there ever was.

Maybe it’s a childish thought, and he can’t afford to be a child anymore, not when so many people need him. So he says he’s okay and he hopes that, in time, he’ll come to believe it too; and when he watches every sunrise, alone, there’s nobody there to care, nobody there to ask why.

~

 _I want to go home,_ Charlie thinks.

He’s been thinking a lot, these days. He’s got a lot to say, too. At home, there was always someone there, someone who would listen or give advice or just be a shoulder to cry on. He wouldn’t even have hesitated. But, here… Maybe in time, he could build something like that again, just maybe, but what he has now isn’t enough. It’s not nearly enough. It’s not nearly enough, and the loneliness creeps under his skin and screams in his brain and digs its claws under his heart, and he’s surrounded by people almost every day and he’s still so goddamn _alone._

And he tries, solstices, he tries so hard, but there’s nobody here who even wants to listen, there’s nobody else here who wants to try, and he’s flailing for a lifeline that isn’t even there as his past life slides further and further away and the chance of anything new is always just out of reach. 

Maybe it’s a childish thought, maybe if he just tried harder he could still reach it, maybe, maybe, _maybe…_ but the thought’s still there, and it echoes and echoes in his mind because there’s nobody there who would listen.

~

 _I want to go home,_ Travis thinks.

That’s all there really is to it, right? He wants to go home. He doesn’t want to be here. These people don’t know him, and he doesn’t know them, and he doesn’t like this place, and he wants to go home. And that’s not all there is to it, not at all, he can see how everything in this city is fake, he can see just how much everyone around him has to hide, he can see how nobody here can really see him and they don’t believe him and they don’t think about him any further past that mask of a stupid child and he wants to talk and he wants to be listened to again and he wants to stay quiet and he wants them to know he’s listening and there’s so much, all the time, there’s so much, and he wants to go _home._

Maybe it’s a childish thought; maybe they’d call it a childish thought even if it isn’t. But it’s true, in the end. And as he still stays silent, passive, the stupid little kid they think he is, there’s nobody there to question it.

~

 _I want to go home,_ Schlatt thinks. 

It’s a strange thought. Back when he was home, he would have given anything to get away. And even if it was awful, the fraying of his clothes, the hunger in his belly, the coal dust under his nails and the coughing coming from next door, it was still home. He was still himself, and he still knew what that meant. And Connor was there, and Ty was there, and now he’s lost them in more ways than one, and every day deepens the sinking feeling that there’s nothing, absolutely _nothing_ he can do to fix it. 

It’s a childish thought, a petty thought, but he only realizes that in rare moments of clarity. Or, no. Maybe it’s the other way around. He only realizes how much he truly regrets in the moments that the fog this life’s clouded his mind with has fallen away. And there’s nobody there to hear him say _I’m sorry._

~

 _I want to go home._

It’s a simple thought, but a powerful one. And yet even the most powerful ideas can fade away with time. 

And isn’t it so easy to forget? When someone finally comes along and wraps their arms around you when you cry and doesn’t leave you alone in the dark; someone takes you in with open arms and tells you that things can be okay here, that you can heal, too; someone bandages your hands and doesn’t tell you that it’s fine, doesn’t tell you not to fight back, but just listens; someone tries their best to get through to you, bugs you endlessly and tries to understand, actually _tries,_ even if you don’t realize it’s what you need until it’s almost too late; someone talks to you, _really_ talks to you for the first time here, about everything and nothing all through the night and by the light of the rising sun; someone who notices you, and knows you, and who understands how much you want to say, and cares, and treats you like someone who matters; someone can finally hear you say _I’m sorry_ and welcomes you back with open arms.

 _I want to go home,_ they think.

Maybe it’s a childish thought. But they are children, in the end, forced to grow up far too fast. It’s only natural to want home, to want comfort. 

Maybe it can be found again, in time.


End file.
